


keep getting underneath you

by adeleblaircassiedanser



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Edging, Enemies With Benefits, Enemies to Lovers, Hate Sex, M/M, Phone Sex, Texting Etiquette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 14:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13032870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adeleblaircassiedanser/pseuds/adeleblaircassiedanser
Summary: nice hatty, the text says. No capitalization, no emojis, nothing. Jack doesn’t even have the number saved in his phone. Originally that was out of pettiness, but what it actually means is Jack has Connor McDavid’s number memorized without even having tried. Apparently that’s what happens after a year and change of seeing it pop up on his lockscreen. It’s not even like McDavid texts him that often. Once they’d gone three months without speaking. Which is fine. They’re not really friends, exactly. They are sort of coworkers, and they have eaten each other’s cum, but they’re not, like, friends.





	keep getting underneath you

**Author's Note:**

> This is NOT what I was supposed to be writing last night (*hides nervously from hockeyhols mods*). I blame the Insidious 4 trailer, the sikenbot on Twitter, and Jack himself for scoring three goals tbh. Thanks to @sunshinexbomb and @broadripple for very speedy beta help <3.  
> If it's not obvious, the bold and italics are text messages.  
> Title from Panic! At The Disco's "The Good, The Bad, And The Dirty".

_**nice hatty** ,_ the text says. No capitalization, no emojis, nothing. Jack doesn’t even have the number saved in his phone. Originally that was out of pettiness, but what it actually means is Jack has Connor McDavid’s number memorized without even having tried. Apparently that’s what happens after a year and change of seeing it pop up on his lockscreen. 

It’s not even like McDavid texts him that often. Once they’d gone three months without speaking. Which is fine. They’re not really friends, exactly. They are sort of coworkers, and they have eaten each other’s cum, but they’re not, like, _friends._

_**Fuck you** , _Jack writes back. Not creative, sure, but he figures it’s fair to match the level of effort McDavid put in. he gets back a couple of pouting emojis, which is classic because the emoji making the face is a blonde chick, but she looks a little like McDavid might look with shoulder-length hair. 

_**Jack…** _

**_What? just because you got your second one in your fucking season opener doesn’t mean you can text me at ass o’clock and be a douchebag, mcdavid._ **

The next emoji is the eyeroll one, which is sadly pretty unisex. _**Call me Connor at least for fuck’s sake. You don’t work for sportsnet.**_

**_Fuck you, connor_ **

**_I wasn’t being an asshole. I watched, we had an off day. Sucks that you lost and everything but u were good. I mean it._ **

It’s nice of McDavid- of Connor- to say, but Jack is still in the post-game mood where he doesn’t want anyone to be nice to him. He’d be more grateful if it was lunchtime tomorrow; right now it’s too raw. Jack actually had a nightmare the other day that he checked the standings in the app and Arizona had passed them. If you went back and told 2015 Jack that he would be over his resentment of the number one overall enough to have fucked him a few times - definitely more than two, and beyond that he stopped counting, preferring not to examine his choices - to be doing that with his dickbrain and competing with the fucking Arizona Coyotes for last place in the standings? He would have asked to be taken out back and shot, probably. 

_**OK** , _he writes finally. He would have just done the single letter but he’s trying to be less petty. 

_**Anyway** , _Connor says. _**I was just thinking that you might not have gotten your traditional, y’know. Reward.**_

Jack’s skin prickles- maybe with embarrassment, but maybe also with anticipation. He’s glad Sam’s not home to see how red he goes at the slightest provocation. Connor probably doesn’t even mean- 

_**obviously i’m not there to provide the actual bj, sorry. but i thought i could uh....** _

Jack waits for like three full minutes for Connor to clarify before giving into the temptation, the obvious bait. 

_**You thought you could what, “Connor”.** _

**_Idk………talk you through it?_ **

Jack blinks at the phone for ten or so seconds while all the blood in his body rushes to his dick or his face. He takes off his sweatshirt because he’s suddenly hot. 

_**only if you want. sorry if this was super weird or something. it’s ok we don’t have to i just wanted you to know i meant it you were killer tonight. anyway it’s late there sorry. really wasn’t trying to be a dick.** _

Jack needs one hand to knead at the front of his workout shorts, so he just hits the call button. “Nice paragraph,” he says. Connor sounds like he chokes a little.

“Uh, sorry,” he says. 

“Stop fucking apologizing, you Canadian fucker,” Jack says, and immediately is annoyed at how lame of an insult that was. Too bad half his brain is offline, his dick almost fully hard and his skin warm all over. 

“Um. Not to be more weird but you’re breathing, um. Kind of loud? Are you. You know?” 

“Obviously,” Jack says shortly. “How dumb are you, actually.” 

“I dunno,” Connor says. “Just- you seemed like you might actually be mad at me, and I just. Wasn’t sure?”

“I was mad,” Jack says, trying to make his breathing sound at least somewhat normal. “But my dick remembers how your mouth feels, so we had to make a compromise.”

Connor laughs, too loud for the strength of the joke. “Really? You remember my mouth specifically?”

Jack wonders briefly how much sex Connor thinks he’s had, which leads pretty naturally into wondering how many blowjobs _Connor McDavid_ has given or gotten. Jack cuts the thought off there because he’s going to at least get an orgasm out of this and it doesn’t fucking matter who choked on the Next Great One’s cock on opening night 2017 in fucking Edmonton. Probably there was a line around the block. 

“Sure,” Jack says. “It’s a good mouth.” He doesn’t want to elaborate, because it feels like it might be weird to explain _why_ exactly it was his favorite blowjob experience. The thing was, the guy approached cocksucking the same way he did everything, like a perfectionist, with absolute focus. He wasn’t sloppy at all, but he’d kept up a good rhythm and picked up what Jack liked and didn’t like super quickly, and also it had been Connor Fucking McDavid kneeling on those million dollar knees, for him. So. 

“Good how?” Connor asks. 

“Y’know, wet. You were so ready for it- it seems like maybe it’s your favorite thing. My cock in your mouth. You were so hard when I finished. You came like a seventh grader as soon as I touched you. So hot.”

“It wasn’t that fast,” Connor protests, but right afterwards there’s a sharp intake of breath and Jack can tell he’s touching himself too. 

“I bet you’re close now,” Jack says wildly, because he’s never content to take a gift horse at face value, always has to push everything to find out where the limits are. “I bet you got hard thinking about what shitty text to send to get me to jerk off on the phone with you.” 

“Jack off,” Connor says breathlessly. 

“What?”

“Not jerk off. Jackoff. Like your name. That’s what I’m going to call you.” Jack realizes that Connor is trying to laugh at the world’s dumbest pun, but he can’t seem to get enough air to do it properly. 

“No the fuck it’s not. You’re not calling me that. Anyway, I can’t believe how much this is getting you off.”

“Shut up,” Connor says unconvincingly. 

“If I score a hatty when we play you guys in January, do I get my blowie?”

“Sure,“ Connor says, and Jack’s dick jumps in his hand. It’s only a little because they’ve never made plans ahead of time, for the sex. It’s always just happened and then they would not talk about it for a while until Connor texted him again, at his fucking royal convenience. (Technically speaking, Jack could be the one to start the conversation back up, but he’s never done it.)

“Really?” 

“Yeah, but it goes both ways. If you lose and I get a hatty you still have to blow me even if you’re in your usual shit-ass mood,” Connor says, and it’s insane how turned on Jack is by this abject weirdo. 

“Right,” Jack says. “So are you saying you won’t get me off afterwards? Is that the new deal? Because I’m a good person and I was always planning to get you back, if you could manage to last long enough for me to get down there.”

“I could last,” Connor says, strained. “If you told me to.” 

“Right now?” Jack asks, smirking. “Doubts.” 

Connor lets out a surprised, mournful noise. “I didn’t mean right now, but yeah,” he says.

“Holy shit,” Jack says. “I don’t think i believe you. You’ll have to prove it.”

“For how long?” Connor says. 

“Until I say so,” Jack says, and does a dramatic pause until Connor whines again. “No, I mean, it’s wicked late here. And I’m close now, so just wait for me. You can go second for once.”

“Okay,” Connor says quietly. Jack would kill to be able to watch him right now. Maybe he’s taken his hands off his dick and is squeezing his thighs or the bedsheets to keep them still. Maybe he’s still jerking himself, but slower and with a looser grip, really edging like they do in porn. Either way, just thinking about what he must look like is enough to get Jack almost all the way there. 

“Come on,” Connor says. “I want to hear you, it’s hot. I miss having sex with you.” 

Jack pinches himself in the leg, hard, on top of a fading hockey bruise. He is not going to fucking come on command because Hockey Jesus is claiming to miss him. “Shut up,” he says. 

Connor does it, for once. Jack makes it fifteen more seconds before coming all over his shorts, which he had meant to pull all the way down but forgotten. “Okay,” Jack says. “Hurry up and come so I can go to bed.”

“I’m so close,” Connor says, and he sounds like it, Jack remembers this timbre in his voice, and his dick twitches minutely even though he literally just finished. 

“Go for it,” Jack says. “Come for me.” 

Connor shouts. “You live alone, right?” Jack asks after a second. 

“Yeah, why?” 

“Nothing. You’re just loud.” 

“You like it, jackoff.” 

“That’s not a nickname, just so you know. I’m just going to treat it like any other insult. Moron.” 

“Go to sleep,” Connor says. 

Jack hangs up the phone before they have to sort out which goodbye phrase is the least awkward. He has to shower for a second time before he can get in bed, but honestly he’s not even that annoyed. He actually can’t really summon his annoyance about the stupid fucking game, either. He doesn’t feel like smashing things. He gets into bed and plugs his phone in to see that Connor had sent one last text. It just says _**night**_. Jack saves the number under McNightmare and goes to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! share my struggle on tumblr, my handle is @adeleblaircassiedanser there too. if you message me on there i'll give you my twitter.


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